Enduring Charity: A Charity Styles Novel (Caribbean Thriller Series Book 4)

by Wayne Stinnett

  Charity went up the trail at a sprint. When she got to the clearing, she heard Savannah’s outboard start and move quickly away from the beach. Charity dropped the anchor and coiled rope, then surveyed the three men.

  They were all lean and muscular, a good thing. Looking at the small anchor again, she realized that eventually they’d come back up to the surface as decomposition gasses built up inside their bodies. Then she spotted the knife the man had dropped and had an idea. She picked up the knife and hefted it. It had a heavy, eight-inch blade.

  There were reputed to be no living things in the Hoffman’s blue hole, except oysters, and that was all Charity saw on her dives into the hole. But it was over six hundred feet deep, and she felt certain there were deep-water crabs down there, waiting to catch the oysters that got dislodged, or any hapless animal that fell in and drowned. She inspected the knife’s blade. It had a keen edge and a serrated spine. She looked again at the scum at her feet. An easy entry point for the crabs would also allow decomposition gas to escape.

  From her excursion pack, she retrieved her suppressor and slowly threaded the long cylinder onto the barrel of the Colt. One of the men behind her moaned and began to stir. Devoid of emotion, Charity stepped over to the three men, sprawled on the ground.

  One by one, she shot each man in the head.

  “You should have waited!” Leilani said, feigning irritation as her five friends filed into the little cabin.

  Rayna flopped back on the double bed, her short dress riding up her thighs. “You weren’t ready, and we had a deadline. You’re always late.”

  “Did he cry like the last guy?”

  “Not this one,” Fiona said, sitting on the bed and bumping Rayna aside with her hip.

  The blonde wiggled her butt over to make room, her dress riding up more. She made no move to pull it down. “A damned shame, that man.”

  “He fought back?” Leilani asked Brent.

  Brent was the unofficial leader of the Gang of Six, as they liked to call themselves. At six-one, he was the tallest of the group of three men and three women. A ruggedly handsome young man, he’d grown up in orphanages and foster homes, much like the others.

  “Oh, he tried.” Doug sat in a chair and draped one leg over the armrest. “But he was real hard-pressed to do any kind of concentrating, on account of the X.”

  Rayna laughed uncontrollably. “You said he was real hard,” she finally gasped out. “That’s what I meant by it was a damned shame. He was huge.”

  Fiona giggled uneasily. “Yeah, he was,” she agreed.

  Like the others, Fiona lost her parents as a child and grew up in an orphanage. Ten years later, at fourteen, she ran away and lived off the streets. At sixteen, she was a high-demand prostitute in Dallas.

  “Shoulda did that before you brought him to us,” Doug said. “Not our fault.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” Rayna said. “When we go after a rich woman, you guys always get to have your way with her before Brent bashes their brains out. Girls have needs too, you know.”

  “Anyway,” Brent said, pulling a sock from his pocket, and hefting the weight of the pool ball stuffed into the toe. “He wasn’t any match for the old one-ball.”

  “Are you sure he was dead?” Leilani asked. The smallest of the Gang of Six, Leilani stood just under five feet tall and her weight was well below a hundred pounds. Lithe and athletic, she made up for her lack of stature with her ability to contort her body into places most people wouldn’t even attempt.

  “It’s never taken more than one crack before,” Brent said, stuffing the makeshift sap back into his pocket, “but this guy needed two. The one-ball is the hardest ball on the table; that’s why it’s always put in the front of the rack. Fuckin’ caved in the side of his skull, man. He was dead; I checked.”

  There was a tapping on the door and all six of them tensed. Jeff came out of the bathroom and looked through the little peephole, then opened the door.

  “How did we do?” a tall gentleman asked, striding confidently into the room with a beautiful redhead at his heels.

  Mister and Missus Pence made a striking couple. In their late thirties or early forties, they could easily have passed for much younger. Clive Pence was a dashing British man, fit and tanned from the Caribbean sun. His wife, Yvette, was a few years younger and just drop-dead gorgeous, with long, wavy red hair, flawless skin, and a fit, curvy body.

  “No credit cards,” Brent said, emptying the contents of his pockets on the bed. “British passport says his name is Rene Cook. Not very much cash, a little under two hundred. Some sort of Spanish coin on a chain, a dive watch, keys, and a hat.”

  Yvette picked up the pendant. “Spanish doubloon,” she said. “That’s worth a good bit. Probably enough for tickets on the next couple of cruise ships. But not much more.” She picked up the watch and examined it. “Cheap dive watch.” She tossed it on the bed and picked up the key ring. It was on one of those buoy-shaped floats that boaters used. She read the inscription on the side of the float.

  “Salty Dog?” she asked. “Do you remember the marina he came from?”

  “Brent told me,” Rayna replied. “Brown Boat Yard, just down the street from where we picked him up.”

  Yvette glanced over at the younger blond woman. “Pull your dress down, Rayna. You’re not a slut anymore.”

  The younger woman was about to say something, but the look on Yvette’s face gave her pause. The Pences didn’t tolerate insubordination. She wiggled up higher on the bed, pulling her dress down to cover her thighs.

  “Leilani,” Yvette said, tossing the key ring onto the bed in front of the diminutive Polynesian woman, “go to the boatyard and get aboard his boat. Make sure the gate guard notices you. You know the drill; search all the tiny crevices where these sailors like to hide stuff. He’s got more than two hundred, and it’s hidden somewhere on his boat.”

  Leilani picked up the key ring. It had a little wristband attached to it; she slipped it over her hand. “It might take a while.”

  “You have all night; the ship doesn’t sail until nine o’clock. What did the guy look like?”

  “Tall and hot,” Fiona whispered.

  “That’s you, then,” Yvette ordered, pointing to Brent.

  “The guy had blond hair, though,” Rayna said.

  The redhead picked up the cap, looked at the logo and boat name on the front, and slapped it into Brent’s chest. “Give her half an hour to get aboard. You know what to do; stumble into the boatyard like you’re drunk and ask the dockmaster if your date has arrived yet. His mind will be too preoccupied with the visual image of you screwing your little island hottie’s brains out to notice the hair color.”

  “You got everything off the body?” Clive asked.

  “He had nothing on him when we left,” Jeff replied. “Nothing but his clothes, that is.”

  The newest member of the group, Jeff came from a broken home like the others — except his parents hadn’t died. At least not that he knew of. They were both crack addicts and had just abandoned him when he was seven years old. Nobody wanted a seven-year-old boy, so he was shuffled from one foster home to another.

  “Stay on the boat tonight,” Clive told Brent. “He’ll be a John Doe in the morgue by morning and won’t be missed by the boatyard until they want money. Wait until the guards change shifts in the morning before returning. And remember—”

  “No fooling around,” Brent said, rolling his eyes. “I know, I know.”

  Leilani could see the change in Clive’s demeanor caused by the attitude in the younger man. He stepped across the room and, without warning, punched Brent in the stomach so hard the younger man went to his knees, retching.

  “No sex!” Clive said, looking around the room at them. “It’s a simple rule. It matters not whether you like our rules. You’ll do as we say.” He looked down at Brent. �
�Do you fully understand me?”

  Struggling to regain his feet, Brent croaked out a weak, “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Brent. Did you say something?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brent said, more forcefully. “No sex.”

  “Good,” Clive said, turning toward Leilani. He casually pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear, then cupped her chin in his hand, turning her face up to meet his gaze. “I trust you don’t have a problem with rules, young lady?”

  “No, sir,” she replied, looking up at the man towering over her. “I like rules.”

  Clive turned her and smacked her on the butt. “Get going, then. Brent will be along shortly to act as lookout.”

  Gathering up her small purse and a light sweater, Leilani went to the door. “See you guys in the morning.”

  In the hallway, she made her way up to the main deck where the exits were located and left the cruise ship. There was a line of taxis waiting for possible fares, but she walked past them. It wasn’t far, and she preferred walking.

  Twenty minutes later, she approached the gate at the entrance to the boatyard. She removed her sweater and draped it across one arm. Pulling her skin-tight little blue dress down in front, she cupped her tiny breasts and pushed them up, exposing more of what little cleavage the gods had given her.

  An old black man sat in a tiny little shack next to the gate. The window facing the street was open. Leilani could barely look over the countertop.

  “Hi, there,” she said with a warm smile. She showed the man the name of the boat on the key ring float attached to her wrist. “Rene asked me to meet him here. He should be along in a just a few minutes.”

  The man looked down at her from the window. Though he was at least twice her age, the old guy made no attempt to hide his eyes as they moved up and down her body. “Yuh not di same friend Cap’n Rene arrived with yesterday.”

  Clive had said the guy was alone on the boat. Was there a woman waiting for him? No, she decided. Clive had the guys watching all day. He’d chosen that particular man because his boat was expensive-looking and the guy was alone, waiting for repairs. Whomever he’d arrived with was no longer around.

  “Well,” she said, twisting a long strand of jet-black hair, “I’m his friend for tonight.”

  She knew exactly what she appeared to be in the man’s eyes: a very expensive prostitute. She didn’t care; it was part of the ruse, just another act in a long line of self-degradation. When Brent arrived later, the old man was only going to remember her.

  “Dere be no noise,” the old man said. “No loud music and no loud hanky-panky, yuh unnerstand?”

  Leilani turned the smile — and her charm — up a notch. “Yes, we know. And we appreciate it, we really do.” She cocked her head coyly. “It’s New Year’s Eve,” she whined.

  “Jest dis once,” the old man relented, pushing a button that caused the gate lock to buzz. “But yuh be quiet, yuh unnerstand?”

  Pushing the gate open, Leilani stepped through. “We’ll be as quiet as we can,” she said.

  Leilani could feel the man’s eyes undressing her as she sauntered seductively across the dimly lit yard. They didn’t have to do much; all she was wearing was the dress and her flat sandals.

  The guy’s boat was easy to find. It was in the middle of the yard, sitting way up high on blocks, the name Salty Dog emblazoned across the back. A ladder leaned against the side, leading up to the back of the boat. She quickly climbed up and went to the door, looking around. The top was bare, just the cabin sticking up a little bit and two masts sticking up from there. The first key unlocked the padlock and she slid the upper part of the hatch forward, then opened the little bat-wing doors below it.

  Steps led down to a small kitchen area. On one side was the stove, sink, and a small refrigerator, along with a row of cabinets. On the other side was a table with a couch around two sides. Another steering wheel was in front of the dining table. Leilani didn’t know a lot about boats, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the outside steering wheel was for good weather and the one on the inside was for bad.

  There was a single light on, not very bright. She looked around, found two small brass lamps mounted on the walls and switched them on. Searching this room would be a waste of time, and she knew it. She quickly went down three more steps into a little living room. A switch on the wall turned on four small overhead lights. There was a long couch on the right and a TV and stereo system across from it. There were hatches in the floor, but experience told her she wouldn’t find anything of value in those, so she continued forward.

  Beyond the living room were two doors, each with intricate sailboat carvings in the wood. Opening the one on the left, she found a bathroom. The one on the right opened into what looked like an office, with a table built onto the wall. There was a computer on the desk, but they avoided stealing any kind of electronic stuff — too easy to trace. Cash and jewelry were primarily what they were after.

  Another door at the end opened into a big closet and storage area, clothes hanging from rods down both sides, and a tool chest and bench in the very front, where it got narrow.

  “That’s it?” she said aloud, turning around. Surely the good stuff wouldn’t be hidden there. “Where’s the bedroom?”

  Through the kitchen, she could see another opening to the back of the boat. It was beside the steps up to the outside. She must have missed it in the darkness. Returning the way she’d come, Leilani crossed the kitchen and went down three steps to a narrow hallway. There was a workbench and a combination washer and dryer on one side with an open door ahead.

  “Whoa,” Leilani murmured as she stepped through the door. The outside lights poured in through three little windows in the back and more along the sides. The room was easily the biggest one on the boat, and the bed occupied most of it.

  She stepped up to the edge of the bed, which was as high as her belly. The thing was huge, way bigger than king-sized. If it weren’t for the Pences’ rules, the whole Gang of Six could sleep together on it.

  We could pile the Pences in, too, she thought, thinking of eight writhing bodies on that big bed.

  Leilani had been with the group as long as anyone, but she’d almost always managed to be in the wrong place when the dirty work needed doing. She didn’t have a problem seducing the men, or robbing them, but deep inside, she didn’t want to see anyone hurt — something she’d shielded from the Pences all along.

  Their rule against sex was just for the Gang of Six and didn’t apply to the Pences, themselves. They spent a lot of time screwing each other, and now and then a passenger or two. Sometimes, Clive would even take one of the girls into his cabin and Leilani knew she was his favorite.

  She was sure that the boys had bunked with Yvette on occasion, as well. They never talked about how she was, though. At least not with her or one of the other girls. But sex between any of the Gang of Six was strictly forbidden. At least, that was what the Pences thought.

  This room will have to be searched, she decided.

  But she doubted they would find the big score in there. These boaters liked to hide the really good stuff where the customs inspectors couldn’t find it — or weren’t willing to get dirty to find it. They almost always had cash and sometimes guns that were easily sold.

  Leaving the bedroom, she opened a door across from the workbench. It was dark inside, but she smelled oil and fuel. She felt around inside the door and found a switch. When she turned it on, she knew she had the right place. The single overhead caged bulb revealed an orderly work room. The engine room extended up under the kitchen and dining area where the engines were located, but there wasn’t a lot of headroom there, and it was dark. Just the small sort of space where she knew cruisers hid stuff.

  Fortunately, Leilani didn’t require very much in the way of headroom. The work room had a higher ceiling, but not by mu
ch. Leilani could move around without bumping her head, but most people would have had to duck. It was bright and clean, everything in its place. She’d search it, too. But her money was on the little nooks and crannies way back where the engines were.

  The clank of the ladder startled her. Was Brent already here? If the search went as easily as she hoped it might, they’d find whatever valuables the man had on board in short order. He seemed to have been a neat freak, which was unusual for a single guy living on a boat. That made him easily predictable. A place for everything and everything in its place — including his cash. Finding it quickly would leave a lot of time with nothing for her and Brent to do.

  What the Pences don’t know won’t hurt them, she thought, a wicked grin on her face. She licked her lips, already getting worked up at the idea of being with Brent. They’d come close twice but lacked the time and privacy they’d need to keep it from the Pences.

  Closing the engine room door, Leilani went up the steps and met Brent just as he was coming down into the kitchen. “Find anything, yet?” he asked.

  “I’ve only been here ten minutes,” she replied, “but I know where to search first. Follow me.”

  “What do you mean you’ve only been here ten minutes?” Brent asked. “I waited half an hour after you left.”

  “I walked,” she replied, leading Brent down the rear steps. He had to turn a little sideways to get his broad shoulders through the narrow door frame. Leilani stopped at the engine room door and pointed to the back. “That’s his bedroom there. I’d say we have the second-best chance of finding anything in there. First best is in here, but you’re too big.”

  Brent chuckled sophomorically. “That’s what she said.”

  As he moved to get past her in the tight confines of the narrow hallway, she looked up at the man, standing more than a head above her. His body pressed hard against her as he tried to slide past where she was leaning against the closed door.

  “You might notice the really big bed in there,” she said, arching her back slightly to press her hips into his. “You search his bedroom and I’ll look in here. If we get this done fast, we’ll have a lot of time to kill.”